Less Pudding, More Pool

I don’t know where I got the love for swimming from, but I have it. As a kid, I didn’t really get many chances to swim but when I did, oh boy. There was just no stopping me and my colourful arm-floaties. I would be in the pool for hours. I’d come out of the water, eyes red, skin all wrinkly and about two shades darker than before because as a 5-year old, going to swim out in the midday sun when it’s 32 degrees Celsius is not ridiculous at all.

Fast forward to 21 years later. I’ve mentioned before that I now live in a place with not one, but TWO swimming pools. Not once did I swim last summer. It left many, including myself, surprised. What happened to that brown prune of a girl in her swimsuit and her hair plastered to her forehead?

She’s back this summer. I want to add, “with a vengeance” but after my first session in the pool, I’ve decided to not get ahead of myself.

After a lot of procrastinating and excuse-making, I got my ass to the swimming pool at 7a.m. You read that right. I was in my swimsuit, ready to bust out all my swimming skills (which is floating, dog paddling and the breaststroke) about 4 hours before the time I usually wake up.

Why so early in the morning, you ask? I wanted to be the only one in the pool. While I knew I could swim, I wasn’t delusional to the point that I thought I’d be all Little Mermaid as soon as I got in the water. I knew my limits.

Apparently, I didn’t. I thought I could swim laps. What really happened was, I took in a few gulps of water, trashed my arms and legs about like a drowning person and all that to move 3 feet. My so-called swimming was so pathetic that when I stopped swimming and turned to see how far I’d gone, the ripples from where I had started swimming were still there. At arm’s length. I probably would have moved faster if I had just walked in the pool.

This swimming/trashing about aimlessly went on for about 40 minutes before I decided that I’d had enough. I got out of the water, belly full of chlorinated water and arms aching.

You’d think that would be the end of my aquatic adventures, but no. I got back in there after a couple of days, and I’m happy to say that I’ve improved a tiny, teensy, wee bit. I’m determined to get my swimming mojo back, even if it means wearing a rubber ring around my waist and practising breathing exercises.

Dolphins, here I come!